


'...and you'll be pregnant half an hour later!'

by Cerberusia



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Humiliation, M/M, School, Size Kink, Spanking, Teacher/Student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-21
Updated: 2011-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-17 04:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt: <i>'Chris attends a British boarding school. His English teacher makes him feel a little funny: kinda creeped out/kinda turned on.<br/>One day Mr. Brand keeps him after class. He then proceeds to fuck Chris over the desk. Emphasis on age difference and student/teacher dynamics please.'</i> (Despite the title, this does not actually contain m-preg, promise).</p>
            </blockquote>





	'...and you'll be pregnant half an hour later!'

Chris isn't sure if he likes Dalton. The people are friendly, the rooms are clean, the food is good, the teachers actually seem to care about the well-being of their students and everyone has cute accents. It's an all-boys school and he's gay. It should be a dream come true - but he doesn't feel any less pressured to conform than he did at his old school.

And then there's Mr. Brand.

Mr. Brand is Chris' English teacher, and he is _crazy_. He has English with him three times a week, and every time Chris comes out of the lesson somewhere between intensely creeped out and intensely turned-on. It's ridiculous - he's glad that he has a single room at Dalton, because no-one else should ever know that three times a week he fists his cock roughly to thoughts of Mr. Brand's hand instead of his own on his dick, biting the heel of his hand to muffle the noise.

He's a 'cool' teacher, really - he talks about drugs and alcohol and sex, and treats them like they're on his level, which Chris appreciates. He's generally well-liked - and ever since Chris came to this school, Mr. Brand has been flirting with him.

He didn't notice it at first: if Mr. Brand seemed a little strange, he dismissed it as his own culture shock (he was still adapting to people laughing when he called trousers 'pants'). But by the fourth week, he realised that something was up. The innuendo could be dismissed because Mr. Brand appeared to spend a good part of his interactions with students making it, but the random, unecessary touching is harder to explain away.

The 'impregnation' comment is the last straw. Chris opens his mouth to mildly suggest that Mr. Brand is, in fact, a paedophile of the first water, when Mr. Brand leans down in front of him and says quietly, just for him to hear -

"Stay behind after the lesson." Chris is so startled that he closes his mouth again and just stares. Mr. Brand's breath smells like tobacco and peppermint.

For the last ten minutes of the lesson, he can't concentrate. He's scared by the thought of punishment for some as-yet unknown transgression - they still use corporal punishment here - but Mr. Brand's words have sent his adolescent mind down other paths. He can feel himself blushing.

At the end of the lesson everyone filters out - there's no-one he known in this class, so no-one waits for him - and Chris is left alone with Mr. Brand. He stands by the teacher's desk like he's suppposed to. Mr. Brand sits on the desk, which he's not supposed to, but little things like that don't seem to stop Mr. Brand from doing anything.

"So, Chris." Mr. Brand is the only teacher who calls them by their first names - he's 'Mr. Colfer' to all the others. After three months, he's just about used to it. "You've been very quiet in my lessons." It's true - he's still a little intimidated by Mr. Brand's complete disregard for the rules which seem to be held in such high esteem here at Dalton. There's something rather wild about him, and Chris often finds himself caught by the desire to both attract his attention and avoid it. Mr. Brand goes on:

"I've spoken to some of your other teachers and they say the same. We're all agreed that you could do with something to... _pep you up_ , let's say."

Chris eyes him warily.

"I'm told that you like drama. That right?" His Essex accent comes across especially strong in this place where everyone seems to speak perfect RP. Chris nods quickly, still apprehensive. "Well, in a couple of weeks we're starting the set play, so that should get you lively, yeah?" Chris nods again, and now Mr. Brand's voice drops low: "But before all that, there's your punishment to consider."

"...Sir?" His voice comes out all squeaky. He's never been quite happy with his voice - sounding like a girl only fuelled the gay rumours and bullying at his old school. Here, his accent marks him out and he gets light teasing, but then they use terms like 'countertenor', and discuss how to place him in choir. It's surreal.

"Trousers and pants off, if you please," continues Mr. Brand in a perfectly normal voice. He doesn't seem angry or upset - actually, he's rather cheerful.

Chris has no idea what he's being punished for, but he's too scared to ask.

"Quickly now, there's a good lad." Not wanting to make his punishment harsher, he obeys. He gets his trousers down about his knees by virtue of not thinking about it, but pauses with his fingers hovering at the waistband of his underwear. He's shy about his body: even here, where no-one teases him, he feels awkward in the changing rooms. The idea of being exposed like that in front of Mr. Brand makes him shake a little.

"I've not got all day, love." He can feel Mr. Brand watching him. "Go on, I won't look." Of course - why would Mr. Brand want to see his cock anyway? Slowly, he pulls his underwear down his thighs, tears pricking at his eyelids in his humiliation. His shirttails hide his groin, but it's still intensely embarrassing.

"Take off your blazer and give it to me." Face violently red, he obeys. Mr. Brand drapes it over a chair.

"Now bend over with your hands on the desk." Chris does so, his embarrassment lessening a little now that he's not actually looking at Mr. Brand.

On the other hand, Mr. Brand now has an excellent view of his bare ass.

Behind him, he hears a drawer opening and closing. It'll be the slipper, then. This is his first time receiving corporal punishment, but he's been told that the slipper is the lightest implement they use here. He'll still feel it for a day or two, though.

"I'm going to give you ten strokes, and I want you to keep count," instructs Mr. Brand. Chris takes a deep breath, realises that no, there really is no way of getting out of this, and says:

"Yes, sir."

He's given no warning before the first strike. The slipper meets his skin with a firm CRACK and one hell of a sting. He instinctively yelps and flinches away, but Mr. Brand puts a large hand on his back and he stills. He remembers that he's meant to count, and grits out:

"One."

"One...?" He can hear the raised eyebrow. What can Mr. Brand - oh.

"One, _sir_."

"Very good." Another blow, and he counts two. He gets to five before he realises that something's wrong.

Being spanked is as painful as he was told, epecially when administered by someone of Mr. Brand's size and strength. With each blow, he bites his lip to stifle his pained cry. He can feel tears running down his cheeks. But at the same time his breathing is rapid, his nipples are tight beneath his school shirt and the blood throbs in his cock.

At six, his dick jumps. 'Eight' comes out more like a moan. By ten, he's half-hard and shaking.

He hears Mr. Brand put the slipper down on the desk, although his hand is still on Chris' back. Chris stays bent over, ass still stinging, panting and praying that Mr. Brand won't notice how aroused he is. Oh God, what if he tells him to turn around? The blood that isn't in his cock flows once more to his face, and he still can't stop crying - which, in turn, only embarrasses him further.

Mr. Brand's hand slides down to his ass, and Chris stops breathing for a moment. The hand moves over his ass, rubbing, setting off sharp pain which leaves a strange tingling sensation in its wake. He's acutely aware of how big the hand is. Mr. Brand is a lot bigger and older than him: he could pin Chris down and fuck him and Chris wouldn't be able to say no.

And just like that, his cock is completely hard against his stomach. He takes deep breaths through his nose and tries to will himself calm, but it's impossible with Mr. Brand fondling his ass like that. He feels dizzy.

At this point, his brain catches up and he realises that he's being groped by a fairly attractive older man. The same older man, in fact, who has spent the past half-term leering at him and making inappropriate remarks. Chris is strangely struck by the notion that Mr. Brand might, in fact, want to have sex with him. With _him_ , Chris Colfer, who always thought that no-one would ever want to fuck him because he looked twelve and sounded like a girl.

His teacher's hand slips under him to run a single finger down his cock. Chris makes a hoarse noise and bends further to lean his head on the wooden desk, pushing his ass up at Mr. Brand as much as he dares. His breathing is loud and erratic. He wants Mr. Brand to fuck him so hard it hurts.

Mr. Brand grips his cock and pumps it twice. Chris moans quietly, but he's sure Mr. Brand hears it. He can hear rattling behind him, then takes a sharp breath when he feels something wet dribble down his ass. He bites his lip as a slick finger probes his asshole for a moment, then slowly slips inside.

He's done this to himself before, whn he could be absolutely sure of privacy, and liked it - but it was never like this. Mr. Brand's finger is bigger than his own, and Chris' vision flashes white when it finds his prostate. The finger begins to stroke, and Chris is dimly aware that the high-pitched _ah, ah_ noises are coming from him. Mr. Brand's hand is still on his cock, but not moving, and he can't come like this and Mr. Brand must know that, the bastard.

The finger is briefly withdrawn, then two return in its place. It hurts, but that's okay - he's discovering that he likes some pain. His ass is still smarting. Mr. Brand takes his fingers out a bit, then pushes them back in again, hard, and Chris moans. He does it again, and Chris realises that Mr. Brand is fucking him with his fingers. This thought and the sensation combined make him lower his forehead to the cool desk and thrust his hips back as far as he can.

After a minute or two, when the only sound that Chris can make is a loud, hoarse moan, Mr. Brand takes out his fingers and finally - _finally_ \- presses something much bigger and hotter against his entrance. Chris sighs in anticipation.

"Say please." Mr. Brand's accent is thick, but his voice is perfectly controlled, even though his hard cock is only milimeters away from penetrating Chris' ass. Chris blanks for a moment, his mind too pleasure-drugged to process the order, and he has to take a couple of breaths before he's coherent again. He can feel his ears flush once more as he rasps out:

"Please, sir." But that's not enough for Mr. Brand.

"Not quite right, Chris. You've got to tell me what you want." Is Mr. Brand trying to humiliate him? Probably. It's working, too, but Chris obeys him anyway.

"Please, sir, I want-" He can't do it, it's too embarrassing.

The hand that Mr. Brand has on his cock suddenly begins to move again in firm, steady strokes. Chris' body actually jolts at the sudden pleasure. Mr. Brand leans over him to put his lips right by Chris' ear.

"I want to suck your cock," he says, voice low. "I want to hear you scream when you come in my mouth." A hot, wet tongue traces the shell of his ear. "Now, tell me what _you_ want me to do you."

His face, ears and neck almost luminous, Chris finally gets out the words:

"Please, sir, I want you to fuck me."

And just like that, he does.

Both of Mr. Brand's hands go to Chris' hips to pull him backwards as he thrusts in. Chris gasps at the feeling, which is nothing like fingers. Mr. Brand must have put more lube on his cock, but the friction is still pleasurably painful. Chris reaches out his own hands to grab at the edge of the desk, hanging on as his teacher pulls out and thrusts back in with near-vicious intensity. The grip on his hips is tight enough for him to have bruises tomorrow, and he finds himself looking forward to them.

Chris' cock scrapes against the desk - again, painful, and he still doesn't care. Mr. Brand's cock is hot inside him, filling him up. The hands on his hips pull his lower half higher, bowing his back, and on every thrust and every withdrawal Mr. Brand's cock rubs past his prostate and it feels like electricity up his spine. Chris pushes his ass back into the thrusts, mouth open and panting now, fucking himself on his teacher's cock.

Mr. Brand is breathing heavily too, making soft, half-vocalised grunts, and it's such a turn-on to know that Chris is enough to make his teacher, a grown man, make those kinds of noises. His previous realisation comes back to him with yet another blush - that Mr. Brand finds him attractive, find him sexy, wants to fuck him. For the first time, Chris feels desirable.

Wildly, it occurs to him that this is him losing his virginity. He's never had sex before - one fumbling grope in the toilets with some guy whose face he never saw and that's it. He'd always had the idea that he'd find a boyfriend first, and they wouldn't take it slow, but the boyfriend would be gentle and patient.

This is _miles_ better.

He can hear himself making these _ah-hah-ah_ noise, like he's still crying but he's actually moaning, being fucked so hard he can't catch his breath. His cock aches and he wants to come, but he can't get any proper friction on his dick and he can't come without it. He has to let go of the desk with one hand to reach down and wrap a hand around his leaking cock, and as soon as he does his vision goes blurry at the edges and he comes all over the desk, moans tapering off into a thin, high-pitched wail.

He slumps forwards onto the desk, shocked by the force of his orgasm - but only for a moment, because Mr. Brand still has hold of him and is forcefully moving his body back and forth in time with his own thrusts. Chris realises that he's being used, like a sex toy, and the idea is humiliating but not unappealing.

Chris feels it when Mr. Brand stiffens and comes with a groan. He'd heard somewhere that you couldn't feel the actual semen, but he can - it's warm, and it feels like there's a lot of it in his ass by the time Mr. Brand pulls out, one broad palm coming to rest between Chris' shoulderblades. Chris just stays put; his legs are trembling, but he daren't move until Mr. Brand tells him to.

The hand leaves him, and behind him he can hear Mr. Brand getting dressed again. He swallows disappointment - he didn't even get to see Mr. Brand's cock. He can feel a bit of his teacher's come run down his thigh.

"Pull up your trousers again, Chris," says Mr. Brand, gently, and Chris obeys, although his body is slow to respond. He'd like to get cleaned up first, but he doesn't think he'll be allowed. His ass still hurts, but it's a pleasant ache. He gets fully dressed, neat and tidy, and finally turns around while still trying to smooth his hair down without the aid of a mirror. In contrast to his own flushed cheeks, Mr. Brand looks perfectly normal (of course, it's probably difficult to mess up his hair any more than it already is).

"Off you go, then, and remember what we talked about." And Mr. Brand reaches out and pats Chris' ass - not a proper smack, but just enough to make it smart - and grins when Chris jumps.

Chris does, slightly dazed, ass unlikely to stop aching until tomorrow and his teacher's come leaking out of him. Somehow, he gets to his room. He sits down heavily - and promptly leaps back up again because his ass is on fire. Sighing, he leans against the wall instead.

Tonight, he tells himself - because that may have been the last lesson of the day, but there's still dinner to sit -oh, _shit_ \- through, he can panic and have a massive freakout over being punished and having sex with his teacher. Tonight. But for this half-hour, he will savour having enjoyed losing his virginity to an older man who knew what he was doing. He closes his eyes and goes through the scene in his imagination...

(As it turns out, he doesn't freak out that night because he's too busy wanking).


End file.
